Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

Disclaimer: this is going to be a disappointing blog for most of you.  First, the good pics won’t come back for awhile from the underwater camera (which was a disposable and may not be any good anyway since there was no zoom).  Blow.  So instead, I grabbed some pictures from the company’s website of the kind of sharks we saw (Galapagos and Reef sharks) that were close in approximate size and proximity to the cage.  When my own come back, I will post those (as long as they come out okay and the sharks look big in them).  Second, there’s not going to be a whole lot of snark here.  Nothing particularly snarky happened (other than a few barbs traded with babetastic Captain Chris) and I just love sharks too much to do anything other than gush about them.  Deal with it or get rent Mega Shark versus Giant Octopus. 

So, the two great loves of my childhood were dinosaurs and sharks.  I wanted to be a paleontologist quite badly, live out in the desert in tents with goofy Panama Jack hats and little brush tools.  I even slept with a red plush dinosaur (his name was Crystal Moonbeam)  But ever fickle, even at a young age, I dropped dinosaurs for sharks  and from then on I wanted to be a marine biologist (until I learned this profession involved math.  And not the sexy kind of math, but actual math.  Gross).

Still, a love of sharks stayed with me.  Even now, even in the age of DVR, I seldom leave the house during Shark Week on the Discovery channel.  You know, just in case the DVR doesn’t work or heaven forbid, I run into someone who already saw the new documentary and they ruin it for me by revealing some major plot point.  You know something like: Jess, did you see the part when the abalone diver bled out from his femoral artery after the first ever hammer head shark attack caught off the coastal waters of Florida?  

 And of course my answer would be no and I would hate that person henceforth.  Forever.

I’ve read all the Peter Benchley novels, naturally.  And seen all of the Jaws movies even the bad ones.  (I’m looking you at Jaws 3-D.  Dennis Quaid, you should be ashamed of yourself).  And speaking of being ashamed, I’ve seen Shark Attack 3: Megaladon and Mega Shark versus Giant Octopus (don’t snark it, til you’ve tried it).  But, I’ve also read most of the accessible scientific books on the subject out there as well.  And I follow shark blogs and the like online.  I will take shark information however I can get it.  So if you ever find yourself wondering about the migration patterns of great white sharks off the coast of California, or why certain sharks breach, or which sharks can be found swimming in the Nile River, I’m probably the person you want to talk as long as you have a few hours to spare. 

But last year in Hawaii, though I talked a good game, I just couldn’t bring myself to go in the shark cage.  Even though it was billed as a 100% safe and no one had ever actually been eaten by sharks while on a shark excursion, I just couldn’t.   It’s one thing to worship sharks cerebrally and from a safe distance on land.  It’s another thing to get in the water with them.   And let’s face it, nothing is 100% safe.

My reluctance to get in the water with sharks was due in large part to the fact that I value my life.  A lot.  I have a good time, a really good time in life, but I don’t jump out of planes for the adrenaline rush.  I don’t ski off of cliffs for the heck of it.  I don’t dive down to unsafe depths for the thrill of it.  I like my life a whole lot. 

And I just want to point out that sharks aren’t like kayaks.

But it’s a new year and a new Snarky, so I convinced myself to sign up.  And then I felt vaguely queasy about it for two days, mainly because I signed on with the one shark encounter company that had actually seen a great white shark (once, like 8 years ago) and had the pictures to prove it.   

Now, why praytell is the Great White shark so much scarier even though a bull shark or tiger shark is far more aggressive and more apt to be actually be a maneater?  Because of the publicity, lore, and Hollywood treatment that the Great White, and the Great White alone has received.  When we think of sharks, we think of Carcharodon carcharias, the brutish body, that ghostly white underbelly, black eyes rolling back into its head, and that permanent grimace of teeth: The Great White Death.  And in this moment we are reminded that monsters are real. 

And yes, that’s what I was thinking about:

And this:

Now the night before I was to go, I laid out my bikinis for the next day and tried to think about the following: if the cage were to break and I became the first person to ever die in a shark cage off Northern Oahu and bits of me were found months later by a scientist in the belly of the shark (naturally a great white) that had devoured me, which bikini should I be wearing?  I ended up going with the pink ruffled one because I thought it was classier than a string bikini.  If I were going to be a shark meal, then I wanted to at least be a classy one, the Sel de la Terre of bikinis, and not a trashy string one, aka the Taco Del Mar of swimsuits.  And yes, that was my thought process, and no, I didn’t get much sleep that night.  You know why?  Because the mind can splinter this way: on one hand you know rationally that if people were being eaten by sharks on shark tours, there would be no more shark tours.  On the other hand, accidents happen, maybe your number is up today, today is the day the cage splinters, you are eaten by a shark, what are the odds, and you become an overnight sensation on youtube for all the wrong grisly reasons.

Anyway, having slept, oh about forty-five minutes the entire night, the morning arrived and I found myself sitting at a marina out in Haleiwa reading over a waiver for death and injury from shark bites.  In general, I’m like every other lawyer out there.  We laugh at general release of liability forms.  Seldom do they hold up in court and gross negligence can never really be signed away.  But it’s still cute to watch companies try.  My eye kept coming back to the words “shark bites.”

I had only told a single person I was going beforehand, just in case I chickened out.  I reasoned that this person, while he would certainly taunt me for backing out, would at least have the common sense to call someone if he hadn’t heard from me in two or three days (hopefully sooner).  I loved the movie, “Open Water,” the little indie flick about the couple that went snorkeling and were left to die out in the deep blue sea.  A real heart-warming feel good movie (made seriously cooler by the fact that the actors were actually divers and the footage with the sharks is all real).  But there was also an important lesson to be learned from that movie: if you’re going out into the ocean/the Amazon rainforest/ancient Mayan temples or other places from which you may never return: tell someone responsible so you have a chance of being rescued.

I grew even more apprehensive when I saw how small the boat was.  Obviously, you’d want something roughly the size of the Titantic to feel safe.  This boat was probably smaller than the Orca  (if you don’t know what that is, stop reading this blog, rent Jaws, or check TNT for it because it’s always on, and thank me later), although, at least this boat wasn’t manned by a crazy, drunken sailor named Quint with a penchant for singing sea shanties.  The captain’s name was Chris (pictured below on the top) and I was instantly smitten.  Not because he was one of those perfectly, “I’m not even trying for a tan” islanders with shark white teeth of his own and fabulously, naturally highlighted by the sun golden hair. Nope, that wasn’t why, that would be shallow. Snarky was smitten because anything and everything he said had to do with sharks.  Yes, he swam with them all the time.  Yes, he swam with them OUTSIDE of the shark cages.  Yes, he had swam up close and personal with some of the most notorious species: tiger, bull, and mako.  Yes, he actually described them all as “cordial” and “intelligent” creatures. And yes, he actually made an “Open Water” reference.  He said, “oh there are twelve of you?  I thought there were only ten today.  That means we can leave two of you behind and not get in trouble.”  Nervous laughter and glance exchange.  Yeah, that one actually wasn't funny, Chris.  You're good looking, but not that good looking.

His assistant, First Mate Phillip, was a different kettle of fish altogether (haha, bad pun).  Phillip (pictured above) was one of these perpetually happy, chill people.  He had an uncanny way of scuttling all over the boat (one minute he was beside you, the next minute he was on top of the boat and his head was hanging down through the window).  I’m pretty sure that if Phillip had fallen into the water and his leg been chewed off by one of these cordial sharks, Phillip would have shrugged, continued to smile and act chill about the entire thing.  The one thing he asked of us was if we were going to throw up, please not throw up on him.  I got the feeling from the way he wrinkled up his nose that this had actually happened to Phillip in the past.  He spent most of the time on the boat fishing.  Not for sharks, but for the fish that travel with the sharks, or rather behind the sharks, because let's face it, behind the danger is the best place to travel.

Anyway, we headed out about three miles out of the harbor and let me tell you, three miles is a long way to swim home if the boat sank.  The water was choppy and the swells high (as Haleiwa is known for and frequented as a surfing mecca as a result).  Of the dozen people on our tour, several threw up over the side of the boat.  Phillip, I noticed, positioned himself strategically downwind from these people.  I was not one of these tossers, mahalo very much.  I spent most of my summers in or around boats as a Nokomis girl.  No weak stomach here.  At least not with boats.

I’d done my research ahead of time on Galapagos sharks and reef sharks.  They’re not maneaters, although, any shark will eat you if they’re hungry and you’re already dead (sharks are scavengers).  They’re found all over the place and prefer tropical warm waters.  I also found this helpful fact:

“When provoked or threatened, this shark will exhibit a "hunched back" posture, bowing itself up as if it was hunched at the shoulders. Then it will swim at you in a classic figure 8. pattern.  Imagine a fish pressed up against the glass of an aquarium, swimming in little figure 8's as if it was trying to press its nose through the glass. This is the display of a Galapagos shark when it is trying to warn you to leave its territory. So if you see this display and the shark is moving in your direction, vacate the area!”

Okay, helpful survival note to self: if a shark goes all Quasimodo on you, it’s time to move to the other side of the shark cage, avoid eye contact with the shark, or exit the cage (preferably into the boat and not the water where said provoked or irritated sharks are).

As far as interspecies mingling go, they are cordial and mix well together.  They don’t swim around and bi**hslap each other like some species (looking at you, penguins).  Captain Dreamy, I mean, Captain Chris pointed out that for the most part groups broke down by size and gender.  6 foot sharks did not hang with 12 foot sharks, nor did the genders mix.  The group we ended up seeing was predominantly female Galapagos (females being the larger of the breed) and after seeing some of the mating scars on them, it was perfectly clear why the genders did not mix: love hurts. 

Finally we approached the place in the middle of the ocean where the sharks were (oh hi fun fact, sharks are anywhere and everywhere about 3 miles off land in Hawaii.  Good to know, thank you, Chris).  Chris asked for volunteers for the first six to go in.  The Corrections officer and the newly weds put their hands up (we’d done that whole, who are you, what do you do for a living chat while waiting at the marina).  Chris looked directly at me and said, “since you’re a lawyer, you must be used to swimming with sharks.” 

Good natured laugh all around.  Hardy har har. 

But this relaxed me, my hands stopped shaking and I straightened my spine.  It’s amazing what a well-timed taunt can do for you.  I finished peeling off my t-shirt and yoga pants to reveal my “in case of death by shark” bikini.  And as I passed Chris, about to descend into the cage, he said, “Nice bikini.  Is that considered business casual?”

Oh ha ha ha.  Pick on the shark bait.  I see how it is.

I called upon the gods of snark to say something witty.  But it was like that scene in Jaws when Hooper is about to go into the shark cage and the otherwise cocky know-it-all himself looks down at his mask, gets ready to clear it and instead looks up at Chief Brody with fear and vulnerability in his eyes.  “I got no spit,” he says.

Yeah, well I got no snark at this moment.

Then I looked left and saw a dark rippling shadow, just before I climbed down into the cage.  I couldn’t make out the specifics of fins and gills and teeth, but its form was unmistakable.  Sharks in the water.  

You’d better believe I got into the cage as fast I could after that.  No way was I going to linger in any area that was not the boat or the cage.  Given my sense of balance, this just seemed dangerous.

 For a moment, I couldn’t even put my face in the water.  What the heck was I doing in a stupid cage in a stupid ruffled pink business casual bikini being circled by sharks three miles off shore? 

And the answer was simple.  I took a deep breath and blew it out through the snorkel.  I had come to see sharks. 

I submerged into perfect silence and deep blue nothing.  There were six or seven sharks by my first count.  They were moving gracefully, but  not with any haste.  Their movements were fluid, thousands of years of evolution showing in each effortless turn of the fins.   I was mesmerized.  No more fear, no snark, just pure admiration for these animals.

(Yup this is how big and how close they came at various times.  No, my abs don't look like that).

Okay, so there was one exception to the “no more fear” feeling and this came when the biggest shark passed under the cage for the first time and I realized (and who knows, maybe it was a distortion caused by the glass, but I swear to you, I absolutely swear to you that one of the sharks was longer than the cage we were in.  When it passed beneath us and I saw how damn tiny my feet looked (my feet, my freaking canoe paddle size 9 feet), I almost passed out.  The shark was so big and there was just something about it being beneath you.  Chris said they’d been seeing 12 footers all week.  I’m telling you this animal was either a 12 footer or just shy of it.  That’s a big shark.  That’s two of me and then some.

(This is taken from the bottom of the cage (clear glass, no bars).  I actually took a bunch of pics like this, only my shark was bigger,  But this was the feeling of looking down, watching your own two feet fluttering ineffectively as something like this silently slid by)

Of course, even though I wasn't scared, I did keep my eyes peeled for any sharks exhibiting signs of irritation or the "hunchback" posture.  You know, just in case. Also look below and keep your eyes peeled for signs of irritation caused by the "plumber's crack" posture.

Finally, in case you’re wondering how it is that the sharks came up to the cage, well, the reason Phillip gave was that the shark boats look like the crabbing boats.  And the crabbing boats dump the excess bait/crabs/marine rejects back into the water.  The sharks associate the boats and the people in them with a free meal (the crabs, not the people).  Did you follow that?  Yeah, me neither.  I got the distinct feeling that Phillip was leaving out some crucial piece of the explanation.  But since chumming had been illegal for two years in Hawaii, I decided to leave well enough alone.  And you should too.

And that was that.  Nothing too exciting and nothing but love for the sharks.  This definitely was one of the coolest things I've ever done, in Hawaii or anywhere else.  Being that close to something that lethal and perfectly designed in an evolutionary sense is humbling and awe-inspiring (and yes, I literally mean, it inspires awe and makes you feel like an insignificant speck of dust as a result, which I kinda like.  It makes any problem you're having seem a whole lot less important).  Also, this was great practice for when I really grow a pair and decide to go see the Great Whites off Gansbaai in Africa.  Don't worry, Mom.  I won't tell you about it until AFTER I get back.  It works better that way.

So now as I depart from shark infested waters, let me leave you with the climatic scene from Mega Shark versus Giant Octopus.  Yes, that is the Golden Gate Bridge.